


Delicate

by jinkazama



Category: Tekken
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:23:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinkazama/pseuds/jinkazama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lei and Jun come together for the second tournament and fall in and out of love along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delicate

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a tekkenkinkmeme prompt. I thought Lei and Jun would be an interesting pairing to write; Lei is actually a decent person and probably could have given Jun a happy life. On the other hand, Jun is such a determined and driven character who wants to do the right thing and Lei wouldn't have wanted her involving herself in the colossal trainwreck that is Mishima life. So I thought about what would bring these two together, and how they would find common ground, and this was the result.

Lei Wulong was not a natural romantic. His job consumed most of his time; his free time and space, rare as it was, was spent on the things that he enjoyed; training, taking in a good movie, and trawling narrow market streets for the best noodles available to man. Sure, he had his involvements, but they were very matter-of-fact and ended without a fuss when the women invariably realised that his job was the thing that got him up in the morning, and that they’d always have to accept second place. And Wulong was fine with that. It was no easy thing to be the partner of a top detective. Life was unpredictable, and there was always the chance that he wouldn’t come home.

So he threw himself into his work, and rose up the ranks of the force, and for a long time he was content like that. Romance was out of the picture.  
All that changed when his supervisor, Leung, called him into his office for a special assignment.

Wulong was familiar with Heihachi Mishima. He was notorious in Hong Kong for conducting his dirty deals there, and he would quite brazenly travel through the city surrounded by his private army as though he was an emperor of old. There were many dark rumours about the kinds of things his company got up to in Hong Kong, though they could never pin anything on him. When he disappeared at the end of the fighting tournament that he’d hosted, Wulong found it difficult to feel much sympathy for him.

Wulong listened to the brief; he was to enter the second King of the Iron Fist Tournament, hosted by Heihachi’s son, Kazuya Mishima, and use it as cover for exposing Kazuya’s activities. He nodded, and looked yet again towards the young woman on the chair opposite.

“This is Jun Kazama. She works for the WWWC, and they’re investigating animal smuggling by the Mishima Zaibatsu. Some of their trade comes through Hong Kong Harbour. You will be working together on this assignment.”  
Jun nodded. Leung turned to her and addressed her in slow, halting Japanese that made Jun smile prettily despite her grave expression.  
“English is fine.”

And that was that, as far as Wulong was concerned. He hadn’t believed in things like love at first sight, much less romance, but here he was daydreaming – like a teenage girl! – about his new partner. Jun. He found his mind going to unfamiliar places, struggling for metaphors apt enough to describe her particular blend of delicacy and that underlying strength.  
Soon after the meeting, they travelled to Japan together and set up in a rented apartment in Tokyo as a base for their operations. Jun was entering the tournament too, and they’d train together, sparring for hours until both were out of breath and exhausted, clothes soaked through with sweat. Wulong kept it professional, and quickly grew to admire Jun’s athleticism and speed.

They spoke in English, with Jun teaching him some rudimentary Japanese. Jun at first had difficulty with his Hong Kong-accented English, but soon got comfortable and in time she was flavouring her sentences with the odd _lah_ or ah. Wulong had never realised how often he did it until Jun gently mocked him, and though he was self-conscious at first, she soon joined in.

They grew comfortable together, and Wulong never entertained the thought that Jun shared any of his feelings until the night they took off together.

Jun had suggested that they go out to eat after training one evening, and he’d accepted, thinking nothing of it. She’d found a place on her many rambles through the city that promised the best noodles in the whole city, and though he had some reservations about Jun’s interpretation of good food, especially after having tasted her cooking, he went anyway.

They’d ordered and sat across from each other. Jun looked particularly pretty, he thought, wearing her dark hair off her face in a white headband, and an air of mischief about her. Though she was initially very cool and reserved, as he got to know her he’d discovered an intriguing boisterousness and willingness to tackle hard work head-on. Oh, she was no wilting flower, that was for certain.

Their drinks arrived and Jun sipped hers and looked at him. He was about to say something, but then the music in the bar changed, and he heard a familiarly sappy tune begin to play. Jun had been right about the number of Chinese who frequented the place, judging by the cheers that greeted the song starting.

Wulong groaned theatrically, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. Of all the times, of all the places – and it just **had** to be _The Moon Represents My Heart_ , didn’t it?

Jun looked at him in confusion. “What’s the matter with you?”

“It’s this song.” He had a huge soft spot for this song, which he had never told anyone, except Bryan, and Bryan only knew because he’d heard him singing it in the car when he hadn’t seen Bryan approaching.

The song, the venue, the soft lighting – which she hadn’t mentioned – it was all just a bit too much like a _date_.

“You don’t like Teresa Teng?”

“No, you misunderstand. I have all her albums. Even the Japanese ones.”

Jun burst out in surprised laughter. “Really?”

“Really.”

“I didn’t know you liked that sort of thing. I’m a big fan of hers.”

“Well now you know. My big dark secret.”

Their food arrived and they busied themselves with eating. Jun watched him as she ate, and he felt almost shy as she looked at him so openly, studying his face with her dark eyes. What was she thinking?

They ate, each with their own thoughts, and then Jun spoke.  
“Would you like to know mine?”

“What?”

“My big dark secret.”

“Tell me.”

“I can see ghosts.”

Wulong didn’t quite know what to do with that. Jun didn’t look surprised at his reaction at all; instead, she said “You have a spirit that watches over you sometimes.”

He choked on his drink; Jun had to dart around behind him to pound his back.

When he’d recovered she resumed as though there’d been no interruption, and said “Yes. An elderly gentleman. Kind eyes. He watches over you when you fight. He has a pipe which he taps like this.”

Jun raised her first two fingers together and made an utterly familiar gesture.

“Do you know who this might be?”

He could barely speak. “My father. He always wanted to join the police; he loved Hong Kong but hated how corrupt it was. He could never join because of an injury. He used to tap the bottom of his pipe just like that.”

Jun reached out and took his hands in hers. They sat like that until the bill came.

Outside, Tokyo was awake and ablaze with neon. A soft rain fell, and they hurried out towards the nearby metro station, dashing through the crowds. They fell into a train carriage, and Wulong breathed a little sigh of relief as he positioned himself in the crush and clutched an overhead pole.

And then Jun leaned up and kissed him.

Her lips were soft and her mouth opened, tongue gentle yet insistent, and he was shocked for a minute. Then he kissed her back, hard, all the longing of the past month clear.

They broke apart as the train announcement came, as the doors slid open to admit them into their station.

They held hands on the short walk from the station. Jun again.

When they got back to the apartment, they didn’t bother turning on the light. They shed their wet clothes, and fell into her bed, damp skin sticking and catching on the sheets.

She smelled like rain and jasmine, and her skin, once dry, was soft and responsive to his fingers. She wasn’t afraid of showing how much she liked his touches.

He realised, then, he’d been wrong about this woman, he’d been terribly wrong. Hadn’t even realised he’d been ignoring the reality of what she was. All the sparring, all the late night discussions and fights about their tournament plans, and the self-possessiveness had taught him nothing; she wasn’t a delicate creature for him to protect, no, not in the least.

She pulled him onto her and slid her strong thighs around his back, holding him close. He was shy at first, touching her gently, but he soon got past it when she arched her back up beneath him, in order to get closer, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

She bit her lip as she came and he felt her muscles tighten around him; it didn’t take much for him after that.

They lay together for a while in the dark, before he spoke.

“What was all that?”

Jun didn’t answer; instead she smiled and moved over to lie with her head on his shoulder.

The next month was different.

Jun told him about her. He learned about her family, fiercely proud and protective, and how suffocating she’d found them. She told him about how she’d come to join the WWWC and the kind of work she did there. Her love of forests and nature, he could have guessed, but he loved listening to her talk about her walks, her meditation and the time she spent communicating with spirits.

Jun didn’t like the city, she said. She felt disconnected from the source of her strength, and intended to leave as soon as her mission was complete. Wulong pushed away a sad little notion of her transferring to Hong Kong.

They spent nights lying together, hours tangled together in sweet slow coupling, and even more awake talking about their dreams, hopes and fears in the dark. It was nighttime when he saw her best; she was more open and more willing to speak about what was on her mind. The day was for business and duty; night was their time.

She talked a lot about the Mishimas, who she was more familiar with. Their evil influence saturated the whole of Tokyo. Everyone in the city recognised the Mishima helicopters and cars. They spent many hours poring over the information they had about the company, and discussing exactly what they’d do once the tournament began.

It was the week before the tournament when she told him.

“Kazuya Mishima has an evil spirit inside him. I’m going to save him.”

He didn’t react well. The old instinct, that stupid misplaced paternal protectiveness, filled him.

“Stay away from him. He’s dangerous.”

Jun frowned and brushed her hair off her face. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I think you don’t understand the risk you’d be taking.”

“I think you don’t understand who you’re talking to. I can help him! Maybe if he didn’t have this inside him, he would be different and then he wouldn’t be doing all this!”

Wulong bit back the angry admonishment; that Kazuya Mishima being saved meant nothing, that he needed to answer for his crimes regardless of the state of his soul.

Jun folded her arms defiantly. He’d said her piece, and she said hers, and that was that. There was no changing her mind when she had set it on something.

When he thought about Jun, in the days, months and years following the tournament, he found himself remembering that argument. One of many, not so different from other minor spats, and soon forgotten, but he never forgot her stubbornness. So young, so brave, so hopelessly naïve.

But she wouldn’t have been her if she’d turned away, he knew, he wouldn’t have been so hopelessly attracted if they hadn’t had the same fierce need to protect and defend. So he bit his tongue, and didn’t pursue it. Only the knowledge of how fiercely stubborn and idealistic she was kept him from sleepless nights, wondering if he could have spared her the pain of what came later.

But he knew her too well to interfere.

They both survived the tournament, though they weren’t the same people who’d entered. Jun fled to Yakushima to raise her child – not their child – alone, and he had to return to Hong Kong. For the first time in years, he was lonely.

On his nightly trips through the dark backstreets of the city, sometimes he’d find himself caught suddenly under a bare sky under the full moon, a natural spotlight, and he’d wonder if she was looking up at the same moon wherever she was too. He thought about the child she’d be raising, and how bravely she’d tackle that task.

He thought a lot about how she’d kissed him goodbye as she left on the ferry, and it took him a while before he could watch the boats in the harbour as he used to without being reminded of the unshed tears brimming in her eyes. She hadn’t said goodbye, but they both understood what it was. It would have ended anyway.

She wasn’t meant for the city, and in his heart he knew she probably wasn’t meant for him either.


End file.
